It Began With a Book
by crystalpen
Summary: Hermione bumps into Draco unexpectedly one day, and he seems to have taken something of hers. The question is: how far will she go to get it back? DMHG.
1. What do you want?

**It Began With a Book **by crystalpen

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Harry Potter_ or any of the characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. :O

**Author's Note**: Hi! This is my first fanfiction. :x Yeah, I've started some and never continued them, but hopefully this time will be different. ::laughs:: Well, okay, hope you like it. :) Enjoy! Reviews greatly appreciated!

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She walked briskly through the crisp, cool September air. Her head was buried within a book as she furiously scribbled things inside it. Typical Hermione.

Hermione glanced up quickly, scanning the street around her. Her gaze lingered on a café across the street. _Looks nice_, she thought, _I'll have to visit it someday_. She turned her head back toward her book, but saw a flash of black before she crashed into someone in her way.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Hermione exclaimed before quickly kneeling down to pick up her dropped book.

A pale hand reached down and got to it first. "No, no, it's my fault, Miss."

Hermione stood up, smiling. Her smile faltered when she peered into a pair of familiar grey eyes.

"Fancy meeting you here, Granger," the voice suddenly turned cold.

"Good morning to you, too, Malfoy," Hermione muttered sarcastically.

An awkward silence passed between the two.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Excuse me? _I'm_ not the one who decided to crash into someone who was taking a perfectly normal morning walk, while—may I add—wearing new robes, too, now was I? Who knows what kind of Mudblood filth you've gotten on them?"

Hermione muttered something incoherent and glared at Draco. Another awkward silence.

"May I have my book back, Malfoy?"

Draco ignored her and looked up and down the street. "So where's Weasel and Pothead?"

"Why do you care?"

"Oh, you know, just wanted to see if your love life's actually gotten anywhere since, oh, I don't know, first year."

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy," Hermione scowled, looking away.

Draco's lips curled into a smirk, "Language, language. Goodness."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "So it's true, then? Finally gotten shagged?" he remarked casually.

Hermione turned a furious shade of red and continued glaring at Draco. _Oh, if looks could kill..._

"Which one of them was it?"

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. "For your information, _Malfoy_, I have never. Shagged. Anyone. IN. MY. ENTIRE. LIFE."

People around them began to stare. _Whoops. Had she just said that out loud? And to…to Malfoy of all people!_

Draco seemed satisfied. "I pity you, Granger," he smirked as he turned around and began to walk down the street.

Hermione caught up with him. "What…What do you mean 'pity you'? I'm perfectly fine with my life thus far, thank you," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, are you?" Draco replied airily.

"Yes, very much."

They continued walking for a while before Draco suddenly turned around, causing Hermione to bump into him and end up inches from his face. She had to bend her neck up to face up. _Dammit, why was he so tall?_

"Tell me, Granger, when was the last time you actually had real fun?" Draco sneered.

Hermione shifted her gaze to the side and focused on a crack in the sidewalk. "Well…R-Ron took me to a Quidditch game two weeks ago—"

Draco laughed in her face. Hermione noticed his breath smelled richly of coffee mixed with a somewhat sweet, cultured fragrance. _Rich bastard_.

"That's your idea of fun, is it, Granger? Spending a day with the Weasel? If I recall, you don't even _like_ Quidditch, correct?" He didn't give her time to respond. "Why don't you, oh, I don't know, invite the poor git to an Arithmancy Convention this weekend? You know, just for the _fun_ of it! I bet you'll both get a kick out of that."

"Well, if you must know," Hermione huffed, blurting out the first thing she could think of, while focusing her gaze on a dark spot on the sidewalk, "Ron and I broke up just recently."

"Ah, finally realized what an idiot he is, have you?"

"Will you, _please_, stop insulting my friends at every bloody chance you get, Malfoy?!" Hermione angrily took a step back.

"_Friend_, Granger? I thought you broke up with the bastard," Draco scowled, closing the gap between them again. This time, they stood even closer.

"Well, it's been—" She paused. What exactly _had_ her relationship with Ron been? He hadn't ever had the attention span to hold a meaningful conversation with her for over a minute, and somehow, their conversations always got back to the topic of Quidditch. _That's all that ever really mattered to him_, Hermione thought bitterly. _Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch. That and ridiculously trying not to be too outshined by Harry._

"It's been a complicated, on and off relationship." _God, why was she telling him, Draco Malfoy of all people, this? _Then again, it's not like she didn't think Ron was an idiot, especially because of their recent break-up. _But I still can't let Malfoy go around insulting him like that! _"Ron's always been special t—"

"Special, is it?" Draco chuckled to himself. "Finally gotten himself into the mental ward at St. Mungo's, has he? And by complicated, you mean he hardly cares whether you're around or not, am I right?" He sneered.

"Will you SHUT THE HELL UP, Malfoy?!" Hermione screamed.

She glared at him bitterly one last time before she turned and ran. Draco scoffed after she left. _Probably off to hide behind her books._ His expression changed, and he smiled after he realized what he was still holding.

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Hermione arrived at the bookstore a bit late.

"Good morning, Hermione! What took you so long?" cried a voice from the back.

"Sorry!" Hermione apologized as she took her coat off. "I ran into an old classmate on my way here."

An elderly man appeared behind a shelf marked "Potions".

"No problem, Hermione," he smiled. "I was just worried about you; you always come on time, you know."

Hermione laughed politely, "Oh, don't worry about me, Mr. Thoreau, I can take care of myself just fine."

"Well, you never know…" Mr. Thoreau replied, placing a book gently onto the Potions shelf. "Anyway, Miss Granger, how was that novel I recommended yesterday?"

"Oh, it was fantastic!" Hermione grinned. "I was just reading it this morning before I left for work, and instead, I picked up my—"

Hermione paused suddenly. Mr. Thoreau looked at her curiously.

"_That bloody git!_" Hermione cried, slamming her fist into a nearby bookshelf. _Malfoy stole my diary!_


	2. To Mister Draco Malfoy

**It Began With a Book—Chapter 2 **by crystalpen

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Harry Potter_ or any of the characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. :O

**Author's Note**: Sorry I haven't updated for so long! ;-; My apologies! Bleh, school started and everything, so…I was uber busy. Yeah, and this update is rather short. :\ Anyway, enjoy. :)

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Hermione returned to her flat that day determined to get her diary back.

_That bloody excuse for a wizard is **not** going to get the better of me_, she thought angrily as she slammed a sheet of parchment on her desk.

Within minutes she had scratched down the following message:

_ Malfoy,_

_Give me my book back. I'm sure you have much more important matters to tend to, but I'm even surer that we'd both rather not see each other again. Ever. So just owl me the book or whatever. And hurry up about it._

_ -Hermione_

Hermione set down her quill satisfactorily and reread her message. She sighed. As much as she hated Draco, she really wanted—no, _needed_—her diary back even more. _Who knows what Malfoy'll do with it once he figures out how to read it?_

Hermione picked up her quill again and set out to write another message. This one, though, took her an hour.

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Draco lifted his head and spotted a humble-looking owl (if such a creature could be described in that way) tapping tiredly at his window.

Curious, he walked slowly toward the window and gently pushed open a window pane. Draco grabbed the letter clutched in the owl's beak, and the owl, waiting impatiently for a reply, immediately settled down on a nearby tree branch.

Draco chuckled—or rather, snickered, for Malfoys are never caught performing such amiable acts as chuckling—to himself as he read the letter:

_ To Mister Draco Malfoy,_

_ It has come to my attention that you have taken an article of my property. I would like it back as soon as possible as the article is of the utmost importance to the owner. The earliest return of said article would, I'm sure, convenience both you and me as no direct contact shall be necessary._

_ -Miss Hermione Granger_

"Utmost importance?" Draco smirked. "Well, it must be for her to actually go through the trouble of contacting me," he thought aloud.

The owl outside looked at him curiously.

"Of course, a Malfoy never gives up anything without a fight," he continued, "especially when it involves something of such _utmost importance_."

Draco held up said book toward the light. "Nothing peculiar about this old thing, I'd say. It's completely blank! But knowing the prissy Mudblood bitch, she's probably placed countless numbers of her damned charms and curses and spells and whatnot. Dammit," he snarled, "just thinking about her goody-two-shoed-ness pisses me off."

Draco picked up a piece of parchment and roughly scribbled down a reply, practically thrusting it back at the owl.

The owl glared venomously at him and managed to scratch Draco's forearm as he took off.

"Damn owl!" Draco cursed. _Acts just like its God-damned owner._ He released another string of indecipherable curses before slamming the window pane shut.

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Back at her flat, Hermione anxiously waited for her diary. _What if he doesn't give it back? What if he __**sees**__ what I've written?! Oh, God forbid! What if…? What if…?!_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the tapping on her window. _It's here!_

She jumped from her couch and frantically pushed open her window.

"Good boy!" Hermione murmured, absentmindedly stroking the owl's feathers. The owl merely ruffled them, ignored her, and settled down in its perch, ready for a long—a very long—night's sleep.

Hermione almost ripped the parchment as she nervously opened it. _What if he's __**already**__ seen it?! What if this is just a reply to…to…_

"Oh, fuck him," Hermione muttered exasperatedly.

On the parchment was written a three-word reply:

_No. Fuck you._

She angrily tore the note into tiny pieces. The startled owl screeched, and Hermione glared at him huffily. _That's it. I'm going after it myself._


	3. You know perfectly well what I want

**It Began With a Book—Chapter 3** by crystalpen

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Harry Potter_ or any of the characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. :O

**Author's Note**: Haha, okay, this is a rather pathetic chapter. :\ I've been having writer's block for a while, so I have absolutely no idea how to continue after this chapter or where I'm headed with it. Anyway, NaNoWriMo starts in less than a week, so there probably won't be an update until December…unless I write a DMHG fanfic for that, of course. ;) So…enough rambling; enjoy!

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"Sir," a house elf whispered quietly in his ear.

"Sir!" the house elf whispered louder.

"Wh-wha-" Draco awoke with a start, attempting to swat whatever had the nerve to disturb him from his nap (yes, Malfoys take naps. How else could they achieve such perfection during the remaining hours of day? …And night, for that matter).

"Begging your pardon, sir, but there's a visitor in the parlour," the house elf stammered.

"Well, who the hell is it?" he snapped.

"I-I didn't ask, sir," the house elf's eyes grew wide with fear.

Draco muttered, "Do I have to do everything by myself in this house?"

He pushed the house elf aside. "Forget it," he groaned angrily, "I'll find out myself. And I'll deal with _you_ later."

"My apologies, sir! My apologies!" the house elf cried sorrowfully even after Draco had slammed his bedroom door shut.

He briskly, but casually, of course, paced his way toward the parlour. A Malfoy is not known to—and should never be known to—give a damn about anyone. As he reached the parlour doors, he systematically adjusted his tie and smoothed out his shirt. A Malfoy must still look presentable, after all, even if he was just attending to some damned visitor at this hour of the night. He inhaled deeply and pushed open the doors. His eyes fell upon—guess who.

"Draco, dear!" a feminine voice gushed from the veiled figure gracing his parlour.

"Mother?" Draco raised his voice, clearly surprised (Hah, guessed wrong, did you not?).

Narcissa shushed him. "Dear, do be quiet! I can't have anyone knowing I'm back."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "There's no one here but the house elves and me, Mother."

She looked around suspiciously. "You'd never know…" she whispered, her voice trailing off. "Anyway how have you been doing, Draco?"

"Just fine, Mother," Draco rolled his eyes. "Just fine. How's Father, by the way?"

"Oh, yes. Fine, as well," she murmured, still glancing around the room. "How have you been holding up, Dear? Finally have a girlfriend yet? You must be getting much too old, aren't you? Hurry or all the suitable girls will be taken. A Malfoy doesn't associate himself with those of inferiority. Haven't we told you that, Dear?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Mother," Draco sighed impatiently. "The problem is that there weren't any suitable girls to begin with."

"Nonsense, Draco. Nonsense. I'm sure you'll be able to find a perfectly nice girl. After all, you have such handsome qualities," she sighed softly. "Just like your father." Draco could see her full-teethed grin even behind her dark veil. "Well, I'll be off now, Dear! Do try to find a girlfriend, will you?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco answered mechanically.

She waved her fingers in a short goodbye. Draco waved back and slumped into his armchair as she closed the parlour doors behind her.

"Do try to find a girlfriend, will you, Draco dear?" a sickly sweet mocking voice forced Draco up from his chair.

"What do you want, Granger?" he snarled as the bushy-haired Gryffindor entered his parlour.

"I think you know perfectly well what I want, Malfoy," she replied saucily.

He grabbed the base of her chin with his right hand and grinned suggestively. "Couldn't keep away from my irresistible good looks, charm, and wit, could you, Granger?"

She slapped his hand away with the back of her palm. "As if," she spat, her voice faltering uncharacteristically. "I'd just like my book back, thank-you-very-much."

"Mmm…I don't think so," Draco mock-contemplated, "though I may consider it if you invite me to breakfast tomorrow morning. Say…nine o'clock?"

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, astonished. "Are you—God forbid—flirting with me?"

"Flirting?" Draco sneered, "with Granger the Mudblood? You wish your arse off I was!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Draco paused, almost at a loss for words. Almost. "Well," he continued much too casually, "I guess it's in my nature, then."

She rolled her eyes. "So you'll give me my book back in return for breakfast?"

"Perhaps," Draco smirked triumphantly, "And Granger, refer to it with its proper name, why don't you? 'Diary' is much more appropriate for this so-called 'book' of yours."

This time it was Hermione who was at a loss for words as Draco shoved her out the door.

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Hermione had her arms folded and impatiently tapped her foot as she checked her watch for the twenty-second time. _Where the hell is he?_ She scowled angrily._ I've been waiting for over an hour! He probably ditched this breakfast just to spite me. God damn bastard._ She grew angrier with each passing moment.

Something struck the side of her head.

"F—" she clenched her teeth and turned around. Furiously rubbing the mass of hair surrounding the location of her injury, Hermione glared up at the blonde smirking gleefully (as gleefully as he could manage, anyway) down at her.

"Thought you needed a proper punishment," Draco declared. "I received that owl two hours ago, Granger! You expect me to be able to get ready _and_ find this cheap excuse for a restaurant in such an amount of time?"

Hermione continued clenching her teeth. "You're a wizard! (Though a horrible one at that.) How long does it take you to find a fucking café?!"

"Must you swear every time we meet?" Draco tutted. "It's rather ugly on you, Granger. Not that everything else isn't."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?" Hermione stepped into the café, leaving Draco just outside the door and wondering if he was actually insane enough to follow the Mudblood into some questionable Muggle café.

He shrugged. The Malfoy reputation wasn't going anywhere anyway. His father was in hiding and his mother—well, Draco himself had no idea how to describe her. Halfway between a potential St. Mungo's patient and, well, God knows what. Draco sighed. The Malfoy name isn't going to be getting much worse.

And he stepped into the café.


End file.
